Sun rise over McLeod Ganj

Sun rise over McLeod Ganj

The water heater woke me up.

I opened my eyes. It wasn't day light yet, though it was possible to see very distinctly in the room, as the eastward curtains had remained entirely open.

Over a wall of bird calls, ravens and frogs responded each other. No dog barking yet.

The everlasting snows so clearly visible.

It wasn't sun rise point yet, and I anticipated the sun would rise slightly more on my right than anticipated.

I took on writing later. At this moment of my writing, the light is as day, the sky is blue, clouds pinkish, dogs bark, street lights are still on, in the valley a fire is burning, and three ladies are vacating at outdoor activities.

The window is now open. Fresh air enters the room.

First human voice of the morning, from an exchange between two monks.

Three car horns.

I don't like taking pictures, but I enjoy capturing such moments in writing. They deliver less of the outer world than the inner state of who receives it.

And that's probably what I wish to be aware of - and share.
Is that what I came to find in India?

Cockerels echo each other.
A dog barks.
The wall of bird calls persists.
I'm still waiting for the sun rise.

Do I like this inspiring everlasting snow on bare grey rock!

Why is, this morning, the sun so long to show up?

The glow becomes more distinct behind the main block of mountain opposite the valley whilst, southwards, the horizon remains pink.

High in the sky, birds of prey circle, probably still too low to see more sun than I do.

The water heater tries an other attempt. I check again: this time water is at last running.

A first lady's voice. An other cockerel call.

A gentleman lays his blanket on a terrace floor, with his yoga carpet, facing the mountain, in a lotus position, he glances at his left wrist.

The rocks bearing everlasting snow seem to gain in 3D perspective. Above the mountain a cloud reflects intense white light.

I observe the clouds are pushed both westwards and southwards.
I see Manu, our smiling host, on an other terrace roof, checking water tanks. We exchange a sign.

The white light gets more intense.

A cloud forms around the southern summit.

3D perspective increases, as if the light now reflected from the mountain's back enlightened the picks behind it.

I feel impatience for a first ray.

An other cockerel.

At the mountain top, the light seems to decompose into a rainbow.

Dark thick clouds take position. Will there be a sunrise today?

First conversation.

An other motor engine, getting closer.

The yogi bows to the horizon - and lays back on his couch.

The mountain top is burning, incandescent.

A saffron lady steps down a few stairs to join the yogi.

A cold wind chills the trees and penetrates the room.

No ray has yet touched the balcony.

6:37, Tibetan ladies must already be at their warm bread stalls.

According to the compass, Lord Ganesh faces West, just like the sun.

Amongst trees, a monk faces the mountain.

First motorbike.

The point where the first ray will appear is now very precise. The window frame protects my eyes from watching it directly.

There it is. No doubt now.

Turning round, I can see my shadow on the bedroom wall.